


There Is No

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-07
Updated: 2004-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Asylum' never happened.  This did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is No

**Author's Note:**

> _Asylum_ didn't happen this did. 

## There Is No

by Meghan

<http://www.livejournal.com/users/strangefancy/>

* * *

* * *

Title: There Is No  
Author: Meghan  
Category: AU, Hurt-Comfort, Drama  
Thanks: To Treeracter, my beta.  
Summary: Every week visitors are allowed one hour at Belle Reve. He'd visit every  
week forever if he needed to.

* * *

There is no tomorrow. 

There isn't even a guarantee of it. 

This is what he's learned in the four hours he's spent at Belle Reve. It's not 'live for today because tomorrow you might be dead' philosophy. It's more like, 'when there is nothing to look forward to, there is no life beyond right now'. It's bleak and depressing and it suits this place; concrete walls, three inch thick glass and he understands how it'd be easy to forget how life should be lived. How easy to forget the outside world when there is nothing beyond four padded walls, one sightless window and a door that leads to nothing but more captivity. 

He now understands how man can make time irrelevant. 

All these revelations and he's only a visitor here. 

On the window he's standing in front of, there's a handprint. When he puts his hand over the impression, the smudges he leaves behind engulf the original. It's not something that he left behind last time. It makes him wonder who else has been visiting and if he comes as often as Clark has. The handprint makes him grateful that he was allowed this consideration; so grateful that he didn't even question the motives behind the offer. 

He had run into him at the hospital back home. Although, in retrospect, he believes that it was planned on Lionel's part. He had been standing outside a window like this one that offered both patient and visitor a chance to see one another, not that she would acknowledge his presence. He visited her and the visits had become a necessity because he had not been allowed to visit the person really had wanted to see. Substituting one failure for another to appease his guilt. It hadn't worked. 

Lionel suddenly there, reflected in the glass, standing silent at his right shoulder, just looking at Lana with him. He stood waiting for an explanation or another accusation but instead nodded at the offer that Lionel had made, not caring what the price of payment would be later. 

"You can go see him if you want." 

So he does. Drive past the barbed wire, through the guarded gates, walk through the metal detectors, subject self to a pat down, take the elevator to the 2nd floor, walk through the steel doors, down the brightly lit hall to the window. Studiously ignore the video cameras that are the real reason that Lionel wants you to visit. Stay an hour. Note every movement, every look, every uttered phrase and catalogue them all for reflection later. Search for something that could be considered and improvement from the visit before. 

The room looks so small covered in cream fabric that looks soft to the touch but he knows is not if the small red patches on Lex's exposed skin are any indication. He knows that the room is claustrophobic. Suffocating. For a second, he's glad that he's on this side of the glass and immediately chastises himself. Verbally. Out loud. 

Clark's is talking to himself more than Lex is these days. 

Which is comforting, something he can share with the man behind the glass. It's the illusion of safety. Like they're in this together and not just participant and observer. Or if he thinks hard enough, he can pretend that this is some bad dream. Sometimes he squints his eyes so that everything goes hazy to complete the illusion. It never lasts long though. Lex will move and everything will come sharply into focus so he can concentrate on the movement. And after Lex is done moving, he feels a little hollow. Like he's lost something. 

If he thinks about it, he's lost a lot of things in the past few years. 

* * *

There is no future. 

Because if there is no tomorrow, than how can there be a string of them? 

Eight hours at Belle Reve has given him time to think. There is no communicating with Lex yet, just a lot of watching and hoping that his friend can somehow feel him on the opposite side of the window. So he's given it some thought and has decided that the future is more dark and oppressing than his parents would have him believe. 

There is nothing he can do to save Lex. Nothing. He can stop assorted freaks, bad guys and Chloe's advances but he can't save his friend from himself. The scary thing is that right now, he would give anything, everything, to be able to have the real Lex back. Not the drugged up heap that is currently curled up in the farthest corner, as if he senses Clark and wants to stay far away. 

Maybe he should. Maybe he would've been better off. 

Once, Clark couldn't see a future without Lex in his life. Now, he can't see any future beyond his next visit here. 

Sometimes, Dr. Foster will stop by when he's here. Two visits ago she stood several feet to Clark's right and they both watched as Lex paced the room, shoulders moving as if he didn't realize that his arms were hindered by the straightjacket. As if his physical restraints didn't matter. It had made Clark smile until he noticed the patient chart held limply in the doctor's left hand. He wishes now that he hadn't used the x-ray vision. 

Schizophrenia. Boarder-line personality disorder. Delusions. Insomnia. Selfdestructive behavior. Threats of violence against self, others. 

No mention of the drugging but drugs can't do all of that, can they? 

Dr. Foster had cleared her throat, making him snap his head up and look away. For a second, he was afraid that she had caught him. That she knew. Her reflection in the glass though showed nothing but pity and exhaustion as she smiled thinly at him. 

"I'm hoping that by the end of the month you can take him outside for a walk when you visit." 

It was a nice thought but Clark had seen the outside of the hospital and it was just as depressing as the inside. Nothing but dirt and metal and a sky that always looked gray no matter how hard the sun shone. Plus, once he got Lex outside, there was nothing stopping them from just leaving. Being held inside by steel and concrete walls was much better than being outside where there was only barbed wire and open road. There was no future in taking Lex and just _running_ and the temptation would be too great. 

He had nodded at her suggestion though. He had tried to smile but it slipped down at the corners, like condensation dripping down a glass. Sometimes, it was so hard to keep up the appearances of being just the concerned friend and nothing more. Like Lex wasn't family. Or shouldn't be as important to Clark as he was. 

That was another thing he had been contemplating. Just how much did he care? Last week, his father had accused him of running away from his problems by going to visit Lex every week. Life was the farm, school, Lana's recovery, family, Chloe and Pete. Life was not merely existing in the moments between trips to the mental institution. It wasn't normal to care this much. Not for a man, not for a Luthor, not for Lex. Clark had a feeling that his father had used the words to merely illustrate a point, to scare Clark off. 

The talk had the opposite effect. 

Clark had start to wonder why this was so important to him. Why he dreamed of this hallway and this window. Why the dreams caused him to wake up, covered in sweat and shaking. Why he mentally calculated the minutes until he could make the trip again during class. Why he measured the distance between the two of them on a map and then converted the miles into yards, feet, inches. Why when he was watching TV, he wasn't really watching it at all. Why Lana held no mystery to him anymore. 

So many questions and he just ends up thinking in circles. Like the circles that Lex was turning in his cell. 

Clark shook off his thinking and settled in to study the movement, store it away for further contemplation. 

* * *

There is no past. 

Because the past is too much like his dreams and those aren't real. 

He's spent eleven hours there. That amounts to a lot of time that he should've been sleeping in between visits. He roughly calculates it to five hours (he hasn't been sleeping well) for every hour he spends pressed up against the window. Fifty-five hours to sleep, to dream and none of it has been a relief from the real world. Sometimes he's walking down the hallway on this floor, stomach in knots in anticipation, the roll and throb of it turns almost painful as he keeps walking because the hall never ends. It's dark and damp and cold air rushes by him in waves causing the muscles under his skin to cramp. It's weird and he knows it's not real but doesn't know how to end it. 

There are more pleasant dreams, like the one that seems just to be a repeat of one afternoon he and Lex spent together. They're in the study, sitting on the couch, talking about nothing important and Clark finds himself asking Lex why he listens to the type of music he does. Lex seems more sophisticated than The Calling or Puddle of Mudd or any of the other modern rock that blares out of his cars as he drives down Main Street. Lex just smiles at him and says that people judge prematurely. 

Clark knows this. Lex has told him too many times to count. 

"And sometimes, if you know what you're doing, you can plant ideas into other's heads about the kind of person you are. If you open your car door and 'Blurry' is playing loudly, the tendency is to assume that you're young and inexperienced." 

There's a grin that shows a hint of teeth, "You'd be surprised at how much money Stained has made me, Clark" 

They both laugh and it settles in the pit of his stomach, filling him, making him warm. It's a startling contrast to the other dream and infinitely more welcome. Neither are real though. He repeats this like a mantra when he wakes up from the first one and he says it like a curse when he wakes up from the second. 

He wonders if he and Lex will have more days like that one. But Lex saw him in Edge's drive way; eyes full of tears, voice triumphant, mouth turned inward and body curled away as he finally understood the mystery that is Clark Kent. Lex's body language was so contradictory sitting in that moment and Clark doesn't know what any of it meant. Was Lex happy or sad or disgusted or let down? Clark berates himself again for leaving him there but at the same time wishes that he had been able to run away faster. Wishes that he had been miles away from Lex when they had dragged him off because Clark had to listen to Lex crying out for him; his voice cracking, repeating Clark's name over and over, like he couldn't stop. 

The same way can't stop repeating 'Clark' here in his room. 

There are no speakers between the wall that separates them, so he can't tell everything that Lex is saying but the formation of his mouth when he says Clark's name is unmistakable. 

Sometimes, Lex is smiling when he says it head tipped back, eyes closed, like he's letting the sound and power of Clark's name slide down his throat and through his body. Other times, it's muttered into his chest as he paces. Often it's slipped into what looks like long-winded dialogues. In any case, it's said often and every time it makes Clark's heart skip a beat. 

It always hurts when the muscle finds the right rhythm again. 

But he can't deny that there have been secrets and lies. 'Secrets' and 'lies', both dirty words that have been tainted by his inherent inability to trust. The inability to just let go and be completely vulnerable to someone else. He's only seventeen; it's not supposed to be this way. He supposed to be worrying about his hair and chores and homework and girls, not about green rocks that cause his body to seize up in pain and freaks who want to kill his friends and parents who want to destroy their children. 

Are there other people in the universe who have thought such serious thoughts? 

Lex had serious thoughts before Belle Reve. He had a company to run and an image to maintain and a father to please and a world to prove wrong. He had a country to run eventually and diseases to cure and women to seduce and pool games to play with his best friend. There wasn't supposed to be Helens and maniacs with guns and meteors falling out of the sky to rob him of the future that was expected of him. How did he live with that burden everyday? Why didn't the weight of it break his spine? He had been so strong. 

Even the strength had been a lie. 

Strength that Clark thought was never-ending; apparently it wasn't. But that was okay, too. It makes Lex more human, more touchable. It makes Clark feel less lonely even though they can't talk or touch through the glass. He assures himself that they will again someday. It'll never be like the past though; they had both changed too much for that. 

But at least it wasn't death. He had already been to one funeral for Lex. He didn't want to think about that though. It seemed so unreal; nothing like the present. 

* * *

There is no love without reassurance. 

If you're never told or shown that you are loved, then how do you know those feelings exist? 

It had been the easiest thing he had ever done, turning away from his mom and dad and walking away with Lex. It had felt final and absolute; it had felt like something he should've done years ago. He wonders if the feeling of finally becoming a man, finally accepting his fate or if it was something deeper. Sixteen hours have bled into each other and created one unrelenting self-realization. 

He might not ever be allowed to tell Lex how much he loves him. 

He's here every time they open the gates and allow him in. He super-speeds there at night when he can't sleep and watches the movement of the hospital within. He spends hours planning elaborate escape plans; the last one involved a clothes pen, a rubber band and some serious MacGyver-like action. He checks the gas level in the truck in the morning of visitation days, planning his schedule to accommodate a trip to the gas station if it's needed. Chloe and Pete complain that he never really talks to them anymore and Lana avoids him in the hallways at school. His parents look worried all the time now and now Clark thinks he knows why. 

He's willing to throw them all away for Lex. And they all know it. 

He came to the conclusion and instead of feeling fear or panic, he felt calm. Like his body had been waiting for his mind to catch up to the fact. He knows Lex has faults, is too damn curious for his own good, is self-destructive, hates authority, prefers to act alone, distrusts everyone, is scared (although he'd never admit it) and desperately wants to belong. Somewhere. Anywhere. It was a huge burden to help shoulder but Clark has held bigger. 

Clark saw through the steel that Lex kept around him and still loves him. God, he hoped he would have the chance to tell Lex that someday. 

* * *

There is just this. 

Now. Here. Forever. 

Nineteen hours and Lex should be getting out soon. He has stopped talking to himself and smiles on cue. Clark has been allowed to visit with him in the activities room and they talk, but only about familiar topics. Nothing alien. 

Not once has Lex mentioned Clark's secret. Not once has he alluded to it. Clark knows that the drugs Lionel has been feeding Lex had finally had the desired affect but he also knows that Lionel unwittingly screwed himself. Lex has become docile but has also forgotten the secret that Lionel had wanted. But there is no satisfaction in this safety, not when he can't see Lex's spark anymore. Not when he can't see the drive or the passion or anything that indicates that somewhere under the skin rests the Lex that Clark knows. 

The Lex that Clark loves. 

"Are you in there, Clark?" 

There is a hand being waved in front of his face and Clark snaps out of his thoughts, "I'm sorry?" 

Lex grins at him _Not the same_ and sits back in the hard institution chair. "I was asking how Lana was doing." He looks contrite at the end of the sentence. 

"I don't know. I haven't talked to her in awhile." 

"Oh?" 

Clark nods and takes a deep breath to gather his thoughts but instantly regrets his silence when he sees Lex wince. 

"I'm sorry." 

Lex says that a lot nowadays. It's just not _natural_. 

"Why are you sorry, Lex?" Clark says that a lot these days too. 

"Putting you in this situation. Putting her in this situation." Lex gestures at the room vaguely with his hand. 

"It's not your fault. And even if it was, I would've forgiven you already." Lex smiles at this, ducking his head and tracing tiny patterns at the formica tabletop with his fingertips. He fidgets a lot now, also. These tiny changes are noticed by Clark and documented. He'll decide how he feels about them at a later time. 

Lex doesn't look up as he clears his throat, "I'm going to be released on Friday." 

Clark can feel his shoulders relax suddenly, all the weight of the past four months taken off of them. "Really?" 

Lex still doesn't look up, "Yeah." 

"So you're..." Clark smiles largely, "coming home?" 

Lex finally looks up and smiles back, _Not the same smile_ , _but closer this time_. "Yeah." 

So he will return to Smallville and Clark will visit him, like the old days. They will play pool and Lex will lecture him about Hades and three-headed dogs and the burden of warriors. Clark will tell him about Pete's latest attempt to hit on the flavor-of-the-week and they will both admit that Pete really needs to get some game. Then they'll laugh at each other for using the phrase 'get game'. They'll talk about Clark and Lana *Although Lex won*' _t know that there is no more Clark and Lana_. *Not in the beginning, anyway.* and Clark will pretend not to be upset when Lex brings home one of his 31 flavors. 

They will talk in the Talon and race down country roads in expensive sports cars. Lex will eat Martha's peach and strawberry pie and pretend that Jonathan isn't glaring at him. He'll stand in the Fortress and make bad jokes about cleaning telescopes. 

And when the present is just right, Clark will tell Lex about the past and about love, in hopes that there can be a future for the both of them. 

"Clark?" There is a hand in front of his face again. This time, Clark catches it and grasps it slightly. 

"Yeah?" 

"Thank you." 

"For what?" 

Lex shrugs _Not the shrug that Clark remembers but that will change_ , _too_. "Saving me from myself." 

This time, Clark blanches at the lie that he made Lex tell. "I didn't always save you," he admits slowly, blinking back the itchiness of fresh tears. 

"I know." Lex is looking down at the tabletop again, his fingers moving slowly. 

"Then why are you thanking me?" 

When Lex looks up this time, he stares over Clark's right shoulder. There is silence as his mouth moves several times, as if he is unsure how to phrase his response. "For coming here. For allowing me to forgive you." 

Clark swallows hard. "You forgive me?" 

Lex's eyes dart to Clark's and there is no doubt in his answer. "Yes." 

"You don't know what you're forgiving me for." 

Lex takes a deep breath, shadowing crossing over his features for a split second. He looks down at his hands and stares at them until they stop dancing over the tabletop. "I don't think it matters." 

Clark's mouth hangs open for a minute, pictures of Lex flashing through his mind. Beaten Lex holding a blanket and crooning to it. Lex pacing his cell, tears sliding down his face and wetting the canvas of the straight jacket. Lex holding a gun, firing at Edge's car and collapsed in the driveway after. It _does_ matter. 

"Clark?" The hand is back; this time covering his own that rests on the top of the table. "It _doesn_ ' _t_ matter anymore. I'm making it not matter." 

"I can't forget." Clark whispers, unable to raise his head, unable to look at Lex. 

"I know." 

There is no more glass between them. It's been shattered but it still lies around their feet, waiting to cut flesh and make it bleed if either one of them makes a move. In this, Clark is not invulnerable. It better be worth it. 

Clark looks up at Lex, returns Lex's not-just-right-yet smile. 

It _has_ to be. 


End file.
